Foundations
by mari4212
Summary: He shaped her entire life. Where does she go from here?


Her grief had been a quiet thing. She doubted many of the other teachers would even notice that it existed, or if they'd seen it, they would have taken it for merely the grief of a friend and co-worker, similar to their own. She was grateful for at least that small blessing. There was trouble enough, between the ongoing and intensifying war with Voldemort and the sheer amount of work involved in preparing Hogwarts for the upcoming school year. The burden had never seemed so hard to shoulder when he had been there.

Albus Dumbledore. She barely recalled a time without him in her life. He'd been her teacher from her first days at Hogwarts, and it had been he who had introduced her to the splendor and beauty of Transfigurations. She'd been a lonely child, far too serious and introverted to fit in well with her more boisterous housemates. Had it not been for him, and for his guidance, she'd have been wholly isolated. He'd been her mentor throughout her school days, and after she'd graduated she'd kept in close contact with him, instinctively knowing that if she'd lost track of him her life would be the lessor for it.

Sometime over the course of the years that they had written to each other, as she moved on in her studies and explored the world before her, she'd realized that she'd come to depend on that contact with him. And so gradually that she'd never understood when, she'd fallen in love with the man he revealed himself to be in those letters. The man behind the mild and eccentric teacher's mask, the man who was staggeringly intelligent, deeply kind, and astonishingly passionate in his goals and dreams.

She was a sensible young woman, and she'd quickly realized that with the age difference between the two of them, and the fact that she had once been his student, he would most likely never look at her in the same way. Oh, it had hurt at the time, that realization. For all her introversion, which had made others question why she had been sorted into Gryffindor, she was passionate. She loved deeply, and it had pained her to put aside her love for him.

But time, little though the younger version of herself had wanted to admit it, was a great healer. Soon the throbbing pain of heartache faded, and though the love remained constant, the painful immediacy diminished. When he wrote to her to ask her to come and teach, she did so without hesitation, knowing that she would be able to enjoy his company and relish the teaching experience without her unrequited love interfering.

And so it was. Within a few years, they were settled into a comfortable routine of interaction. Yes, there were times when he'd say something, or give a side-long glance that had her heart racing. And yes, at times he'd pop out a flirtatious comment and smile and she'd feel as passionately devoted to him as she had when she'd first acknowledged her love, and occasionally she'd dream of more. But there were also times when she could barely restrain herself from shouting or hitting him, times when he'd take the eccentric role a little too far. Life continued, bringing the bitter with the sweet. She stood beside him while the war with Voldemort raged, and listened as he berated himself for not finding a way to reach Tom Riddle earlier, for not stopping the violence before it had started. She held his hand as he wept for the loss of life, as he shouldered the burden of fighting when the Ministry had failed. And she waited for him on the day it ended, witnessed his pain at leaving the boy in hands who would not treasure him in his hope that it would protect the boy from the dangers that still threatened. She was his constant, the shoulder that he leaned upon when the burdens of the responsibilities that he'd been asked to carry became too much, and he, he was her touchstone, the foundations upon which she'd shaped her life. Whenever he asked it, she'd willingly stepped up into each new role as he came to rely upon her, first as teacher, then as head of house, and finally as Deputy Headmistress when old Agnes had announced her retirement.

But this loss of him devastated her. Taking his place as Head of Hogwarts seemed an impossible task. How could she possibly live up to what he'd been, even ignoring the war raging on outside the school walls? She was adrift, lost without her anchor for the summer months. So much of her life had been bound up in Albus, where did she turn from here? She sank herself into her work, preparing the school for the next year, reinforcing the wards, patching the holes that had allowed Snape to enter freely, writing the letters to new students, arguing with the school governors and the Ministry when they tried to talk her into closing the school for the duration of the war.

By the time the following September had arrived, she'd purged the worst of her grief, and found a new anchor for herself in Hogwarts. She blessed Pomona for demanding that the school remain open, she knew instinctively that that was what _he_ would have wanted. And in the return of the students, the loss of him was no longer so obvious. So much of what he had been rested in them, in the school as it came to life with the children's voices echoing throughout the halls. She found herself able to enter his office without wincing, able to look at his portrait and feel her love for him rise first, not her grief. Acceptance had come, and she knew that she could be the person he'd shaped so much,

One afternoon she found herself looking up at his portrait and whispering softly, "Thank you, Albus."

She lowered her head immediately, and so missed his portrait's gaze focusing on her figure, nor his gently worded reply, "Thank you, Minerva."


End file.
